America, the Beautiful
by Kaxopilla
Summary: The attacks have been launched. The plague has spread. America, the Beautiful has become hell. One man has endured the assault, and he has one task on his mind: survival.
1. Breach 41

**1 - Breach 41**

* * *

Gregory tapped away upon the keys of his laptop, slightly bothering the woman sitting next to him. He had to have this statistics report done by the time the plane landed, so once she actually spoke up about it, he apologized. The company would really be on his back if he didn't manage to get this done, even if it was nothing more than an organization of information that everyone already knew. He let out a coarse sigh, closing his laptop and turning to look out the window of the plane. The sky was a dull gray, and the clouds were grayer. After a second of hesitation, Gregory opened his laptop again.

A little bit later, Gregory had finished his report. A stewardess confronted him, flashing a clearly fake smile at him. She was just as tired of being on the plane as Gregory was.

"Excuse me, sir, can I get you anything?" Gregory looked up to the voice, that of the young stewardess. She had a kind of eastern-european accent. Maybe she's from Russia or something, Gregory thought. After a bit of hesitation, he just shook his head. The stewardess looked at him awfully funny for a moment. There was something in her eye, a twitch, a cringe. Gregory noticed it, but he didn't want to say anything. It'd be plain rude, wouldn't it?

"Okay, sir." She finally said, walking away to address the next line of passengers. Gregory shook his head. It must have been his lack of sleep just getting to him. There wasn't anything wrong with the stewardess, he convinced himself, and if there was, it was probably just a twitch. Nothing to worry about. He slowly began to close his eyes, letting out a long breath through his nostrils. In a few minutes, Gregory was asleep.

A sudden rock from the plane shook Gregory to consciousness. A few passengers had gotten up, talking to the captain. They appeared rather angry, yelling at the white-coated pilot; one of them was speaking another language, just as angrily. The Captain tried to calm them down.

"It's just turbulence, that's all. Calm down, already. The storm's shaking the plane a bit, I-" He was cut off by the foreign man screaming at him in another language, yet again. Gregory's groggy, blinking eyes turned to face the window, and what he saw truly surprised him. Just outside the window, maybe ten or twenty feet, was a small, grey jet, with sleek, sharp wings and a black-tinted cockpit. Gregory's eyes widened a bit when he saw missiles underneath the wings.

With the help of two other crewmen, the Captain finally got everyone in their seats. With a breath he began to speak,

"The storm won't go away if you all yell at me," He said, turning to enter the cockpit. He mumbled something as he slammed the door shut. Gregory was growing more and more worried. He opened his laptop up again, but just a second later it was knocked out of his hands by another rock of the plane. A loud boom followed. The passengers began to panic, kicking and shoving to get to the front of the plane. Gregory stayed in his seat, hurriedly buckling his seatbelt.

A moment later, a thump sounded and clear facemasks connected to wires fell from the ceiling of the plane. With wide eyes, Gregory scrambled to get one, taking a few deep breathes as he pushed it against his face. The woman next to him did the same; she looked at Gregory with terror in her eyes. No words were spoken, for there was no time. A vicious boom sounded from outside, drawing Gregory's attention the window. One of the fighter jets outside was struck in the wing by a missile, and it began to plummet towards the Earth.

Another jet replaced it, and it appeared to be missing one of its rockets. It was visually identical to the other jet, except for one detail. A red star was present on the side of the wing, and Gregory got a good view of it as the jet changed its pitch to fly under the plane. He had no idea what the hell was going on, but he just had to sit tight. Maybe the pilot would get the plane back in functionality. Just don't panic, Gregory thought.

More loud bangs sounded from outside, as well as gunfire. The woman next to Gregory began to cry. She sunk into her seat, removing her wallet from her pocket. With that, she pulled out a picture of a family. The woman was in the picture. Gregory's attention spiked to the front of the plane. A horrible yelp was emitted from the Captain, and Gregory's eyes widened in horror as he looked onto what had happened. The stewardess was covered in the Captain's crimson blood, and a piece of his tender neck flesh rested in her mouth. Holding down vomit, Gregory looked away.

The sound of metal scraping on metal exploded from the back of the plane. Gregory looked back to see one of the fighter jets cleaving through the back end of the plane, a sudden explosion of metal and wire and glass. The cockpit's glass bursted, sending shards of glass everywhere. The woman next to Gregory let out a gawking sound, and before he could do anything, she stopped moving. A sharp, uneven shard of metal protruded from the woman's stomach. Gregory wanted to vomit, wanted to cry. He wanted to see his family.

Several passengers, including the stewardess and the Captain, flew backwards, flying out the back of the plane. Gregory looked out the window. They were still thousands of feet in the air. He closed his eyes. Just stay calm, he thought. Just don't panic. The chaos continued, with both blood and screams filling the air. One man flew backwards, desperately gripping for something to keep him from being jettisoned from the plane. He grasped a seat with his shaky hands, but it wasn't enough. He was sent flying out the back of the plane, disappearing into the foggy storm brewing below.

After Gregory watched that, the plane suddenly jerked forward. The cold, hard metal of the seat in front of him impacted his skull. Everything got dark.


	2. Sleeping

Shot while attempting to cross in front of the plane, another jet spun into the cockpit of the plane, shattering and compressing the cockpit into thousands of tiny shards of glass and steel which scattered themselves throughout the main cabin. A deafening boom sounded from the right side, and the wing was cut loose. Within seconds the entire airliner careened out of control, spinning to the side with no sign of stopping or slowing until it would inevitably impact the hard ground below. Gregory remained unconscious, only to be jolted awake suddenly by the sound of distant gunfire.

Gregory's vision was blurry at best-all he could make out was the shattered glass of a window glimmering in sunlight, which apparently was casting itself from above. Still on the ground, Gregory looked up to see that the plane had managed to crash itself into some sort of office building-several floors were collapsed above him by the sheer velocity of the plane, and then sun was shining through the produced hole. Suddenly, pain shot through Gregory's gut, stunning him, making his eyes well with tears. It was a sharp, powerful pain that incapacitated him; as he looked down to see it was a piece of glass lodged in his side, it became even more intense.

His legs did not want to stand, though he willed them to, sure that he had to get to the hospital as soon as he could. He turned back to the plane, stepping back to stare, in awe, at the utter destruction it had caused. The metal creaked, the engine fires quietly burned across the room. Red goo full of bony chunks that could only be assumed to have once been a human being was smeared across the walls and rubble, like red stains in a carpet. An unrecognizably disfigured face poked itself just inches out of the rubble, mouth agape dripping with saliva, eyes wide open in impossible terror. Gregory fell to his knees and vomited up sticky, white spit as he held his wound.

There were tears in Gregory's eyes as he shot a hateful glare back at the corpse's muted face. This tragedy was one that he was not yet capable of comprehending, yet his lack of understanding had only begun there. Suddenly, there was a twitch, subtle and almost unnoticeable. So much so, in fact, that Gregory had begun to make his way towards the door before noticing, stepping back with his face contorted in awe and confusion. He was at the moment unsure, but it certainly looked as though the face had moved. He stared intensely, horrified, at the corpse's face, and it then gave another sign of life: a sudden, rage-fueled roar that echoed throughout the room. Immediately it sprang to life, biting with yellow teeth and frothing with pink, bubbly spit.

Gregory yelped, recoiling in shock, nearly falling through the broken window. The corpse responded by continuing its tantrum, shrieking and howling with an intense, deep hate in its wide, paranoid eyes. They were like those of a hawk, constantly scanning and moving to perceive everything at an unnatural pace, darting back and forth crazily, madly.

"Fuck me," Gregory said.

"I am so dead."


End file.
